


Actions Speak Louder Than Words

by junkster



Category: Hamish & Andy RPF
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-26
Updated: 2011-04-26
Packaged: 2017-10-18 17:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junkster/pseuds/junkster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based towards the end of the 'Hear no evil/See no evil' challenge, and the boys are beginning to struggle with their self-inflicted disabilities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Actions Speak Louder Than Words

It was unusual and, well, _frightening_ to see Hamish so out of his comfort zone. He'd put up a good show all day - their second day - but it was as they were heading back to Andy's apartment that things started to crumble. Firstly, while trying to get them both across a busy road, Hamish almost got run down by a speeding truck. He didn't hear it coming, obviously, and it was upon them so much faster than it should have been. All Andy knew of it was the prolonged, angry honking of a horn, a furious bellow of "Get out of the road you lanky fuck!" and the way Hamish stumbled back against him, bodily protecting him, leading the way as he was. He let loose an admirable string of curses and it took them several more minutes before he was confident enough to cross again.

A little closer to home, just to round things off, a charity worker apparently tapped Hamish's shoulder from behind and scared the living daylights out of him. Andy heard the rattle of coins in a plastic pot just before Hamish wrenched away from him, leaving him stranded. He stopped dead, hearing other people mutter angrily as they were forced to side step him, and tried to pinpoint the sound of Hamish's adrenaline-wild voice.

"He can't hear you, mate," he tried to tell the charity worker, hoping he was pointing in the right direction. "We're doing an experiment - I can't see, he can't hear. You must've scared him, that's all."

"Yeah," a teenage boy's voice drawled, "I can see that by the way he's glaring fucking daggers at me right now. I'll just leave you to it, hey?"

Andy nodded his thanks and called out Hamish's name, holding a hand out hopefully, trying to attract his attention. "Hamish? Hame, you'd better still be there, mate..."

"Yeah, I'm here," the familiar voice came back to him tersely, and a hand grabbed his forearm. "Let's go."

 

The remainder of the walk was fairly uneventful, but Andy was still overwhelmingly relieved to get back to the familiarity of home. He wanted to make sure that Hamish was okay, so unused was he to the resounding silence between them. Usually he could take one look at Hamish's eyes and know how he was feeling, so having to fall back on sound alone was frustrating. After all, Hamish was one of those people who tended to cover it up when he was upset, his voice giving nothing away.

It had surprised Andy, doing the experiment, how quickly he'd become dependent on Hamish, and how that feeling of dependence manifested itself in a need for physical closeness. Hamish became unusually quiet at times because, although he loved to talk, never getting an answer had worn thin for him quickly, so Andy had to seek assurance from him in other ways.

As they walked in through the front door, he stood still and listened as Hamish locked up, breathing in deeply the scent of home and feeling the tension rush out of him. When he realised that Hamish had stopped moving, he turned his head to the side and began to pick up on the subtly unsteady breathing behind him. And while it was true that Hamish tended to cover up how he was feeling, this Hamish was living in silence; bereft of sounds and words and reassurance.

He was struggling.

That was all Andy needed to know.

Turning around, he took the few steps back towards the door until his outstretched hands made contact with Hamish's chest and he felt the rapid, panicky heartbeat beneath the ridges of ribs. Long fingers wrapped around his wrists and suddenly he was pulled into a hug, his weight pushing Hamish back against the door with a thud.

"Whoa, whoa, easy mate," he soothed, reaching up to hold either side of Hamish's face and hoping to god Hamish could lip read some of what he was saying. "Easy, Hame. Deep breaths, okay? We're okay now."

Hamish's body tensed as Andy's hands touched his cheeks, and, as he closed his eyes, Andy felt the flutter of lashes against his fingers.

"No," Hamish said, voice unsteady, "we're not. What if there's a fire? What if someone breaks in? What if you try to get up for a piss in the middle of the night and fall and crack your head open on the sink?"

"We talked about this," Andy said, touching a thumb to the notch of concentration furrowed between Hamish's brows. "I'll wake you."

"That means it's all your responsibility. I'm practically useless at this point."

"No," Andy shook his head firmly. "I need you."

"I hate this," Hamish uttered quietly, pressing his forehead to Andy's. "I know that it's worse for you, I know you really got the short straw, but it's so fucking lonely only hearing my own voice in my head, mate. Christ, I could've got us both killed today on that road."

Andy shook his head, then took one of Hamish's hands and curled it carefully around his own throat, humming softly.

Hamish tilted his head as he felt the vibration through his fingers. He sighed and wrapped his other hand around the back of Andy's neck appreciatively.

"Thanks, mate," He murmured, dropping a soft kiss to Andy's temple.

Andy smiled and stroked both of his hands down Hamish's face, using his thumbs to judge before leaning in and pressing a brief, answering kiss to his slightly parted lips. The fingers clutching the back of his t-shirt tightened in response. Hamish pulled him closer and returned the kiss urgently, opening up to him without hesitation. Andy buried his hands in Hamish's curls and marveled at the sensation of the tongue sliding against his own, the feeling so intense without the aid of sight. Hamish made a soft sound of pleasure that went straight to his insides, twisting his stomach and pooling heat around his groin.

"Andy," Hamish breathed against his lips as they broke apart for air. "God..."

Andy stroked Hamish's nape to convey his agreement, wishing like hell that he could see those intimately familiar pale blue eyes.

He felt the cotton of his t-shirt moving and then suddenly a warm hand trailed from the waistband of his jeans up to his sternum, a slow slide that forced his head back and an embarrassingly needy sound out of his mouth.

"Jesus, Hame," he rasped, swallowing hard as Hamish wrapped a strong hand around the right side of his ribcage, mouth hot against his jaw.

Hamish murmured something unintelligible and pressed a kiss underneath each of his eyes with a tenderness that made Andy's heart hammer in his chest, then a hand slid into one of his and he was being pulled across the room. He went with it quickly, aware enough of his apartment's layout and sure by this point that Hamish wouldn't hurt him deliberately. The backs of his knees hit something and he was pushed down onto his back on the couch, Hamish's weight settling lightly over his own. With the sensory deprivation of his eyes leaving him intent on touch and smell and sound only, he felt surrounded and protected and it was pure, wonderful heaven. One of Hamish's long legs was between his own and his bony hips pressed down into him, that soft mouth engaging his own in another deep, hungry kiss. He pressed a hand up under Hamish's t-shirt and into the small of his back, tasting coffee against his tongue and breathing in the scent of soft, clean cotton between kisses.

It was incredible to feel so needed, and to feel such need in return. He only wished that he could see Hamish; see whether he was looking at him with the same hunger that he felt; let his gaze wander down that long, lean body and rake it back up. As he dug the blunt tips of his fingers into the ridge of Hamish's spine, he felt Hamish's hips press down hard against his own and oh, jesus. He bucked his own hips up and finally managed to get a sound out of Hamish, a beautiful, breathy gasp that cemented everything in his mind. He wanted Hamish.

 _Needed_ Hamish.

But not like this. He had to see him. He knew it as soon as he heard that heart-stopping sound from his best friend's mouth, that it had to be all or nothing. And not that he'd ever admit it, but he felt sorry for Hamish being trapped inside his own head, denied of sound and speech and, well, gasps of pleasure.

Putting his hands on Hamish's chest and pushing him away was one of the hardest things he'd had to do, and he was terrified that he might be bringing an end to his one and only chance. There was only the briefest of hesitations and then that wonderful weight and heat was gone, and he heard Hamish shuffling back against the corner of the couch, his breaths quick.

Knowing that Hamish would be freaking out that he'd done something wrong, Andy held up a hand to ask him to wait. Leaning forwards, he patted the top of the coffee table until he found what he was looking for, and, grabbing the pen and pad of paper, he turned a couple of sheets to what should have been a blank page, before searching out the edge with the pen. Carefully, slowly, he began to write what he hoped was a legible message, then held the pad up for Hamish to see.

Hamish didn't respond for a moment, but when he did his voice was suspiciously rough with emotion. "Well, you've got it upside down, but...if I'm reading your three year old's scrawl right...it says 'I need to see you'?"

Andy nodded in confirmation.

"You mean you want to take the patches off?"

Andy shook his head.

"So...you want to see me if we do anything...serious, then, is that it?"

Another nod, and Andy heard Hamish sigh quietly.

"I thought you were about to deck me or something."

Andy smiled and reached out with both hands, an open gesture of invitation.

"I need to hear you, too," Hamish admitted, carefully lying back down by Andy's side, an arm hooked over his stomach. "Never thought I'd say this, but I really miss your voice, Ando. So...we don't take this any further until we've got our senses back, then? So to speak."

Andy nodded again, then brought his pad back to scribble something else. Hamish read as he wrote.

"'Can...still...kiss me'...Oh. Thank Christ for that."

Andy smiled again at the relief in Hamish's voice and sensed him leaning over, feeling the couch dip and shivering as a hand cupped the side of his face, thumb rasping against his stubble.

"You're still gorgeous, y'know," Hamish mused, stroking his jaw gently. "Even with those scary damn patches, you're gorgeous."

Knowing a reply would only fall on deaf ears, Andy did the next best thing he could and leaned up to press their lips together, hearing that quiet little sound of pleasure again and savouring the knowledge that, in less than a day, he'd be able to see it coming.


End file.
